Miserum Insanum
by Mission Catalyst
Summary: When the twins meet a terrifying boy with black eyes, things can only get worse- the boy's father is a sadistic experimenter with only one victim on his mind- Dipper.
1. One

**A/N Just a note- the Gravity Falls** **fanfiction on my previous account was used as a basis to help begin this one. It's possible I'll incorporate Bill into later chapters. ~Please enjoy~**

One

* * *

 _In the secluded depths of Oregon lies a drowsy forested town, heavily shrouded by the commercial business of national parks and seaside commerce. However, as in any such outwardly plain city, it boasts a booming business of guileful tourism. The greedy tourist very well senses that the peculiar oddities are a fallacy, but still dares to utter the question- "What if?"_

 _There is one area in particular that throbs with a perplexing supernatural fascination. And, years ago, someone built a shack on it. His brother now crafts clever eccentricities to sell for inflated prices. He has invited his grandniece and nephew to spend the summer at his sly little business home._

 _A boy, small in stature, with sharp eyes and crisp books. A girl, the mirror image, doe-eyed with rainbow sweaters._

 _They are different. They are special._

* * *

 _Sunday_

Twelve-year-old Dipper Pines was not a loser. Or so he thought.

"You're going down, Broseph!" Mabel said from her position behind the Mystery Shack's cold wooden counter, eyes glittering with childlike insolence. "You know I've never lost at arm wrestling, even in the third grade."

Dipper arched his brow, a smirk slowly spreading across his cheeks as he said, "We'll see about that."

Mabel scoffed, running her tongue along the bumpy ridges of her cold braces. "Whatever, Dipstick. On the count of three. One… go!"

Dipper, having known his sister for twelve years, was fully prepared for this deception and immediately fell into pattern of complicated stance adjustment. He strained intensely, sinking his upper teeth into the soft muscle of his tongue, ignoring Mabel's silly taunts opposite him. A thin film of sweat broke across his forehead as the skin on his knuckles slowly turned to white.

It was clearly a tie- the twins had been going at it for a good twenty seconds, but Dipper's arm began to lag and Mabel let loose a cluster of shrill Indian calls as she eventually slammed her brother's arm down on the counter with a bang.

"Ha!" she said, wild eyed, and thumped Dipper loudly on the back. "I am now the superior twin. Bow down, peasant, and kiss my cat rings!"

Dipper tightened his jaw and glared at the wall. "This was rigged."

The bell above the Shack's door chimed sharply, announcing the arrival of another busload stampede of tourists.

Dipper groaned. "Great. They still don't take Sundays off. Guess I'm not tearing up the hardwood today."

"Is that about that smell Grunkle Stan was talking about?" Mabel asked, chewing her lip.

"Yeah, yeah, it is. Soos was going to take care of it, but he called in sick today. Think he's too scared?" Dipper raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know, Dipper. Maybe you shouldn't. You know how this place is. I don't know." Mabel shook her head, handing a twenty back to a customer at the counter. "Come back soon!" she shouted after him. "Oh- you forgot your complimentary Mabel sticker!" She hopped off the chair and scuttled to the door.

Dipper cast a quick glance at his tools gathering dust in the corner whilst directing a meaty woman to the downstairs bathroom. The smell was pretty bad in the back area; a rat must certainly have gotten caught in one of the traps beneath the floorboards. Of course, Stan was too preoccupied with _Baby Fights_ to provide the situation with any real attention.

A boy had crouched down on his knees and placed his ear to the spot, narrowing his eyes as a clump of hair dangled above his brow.

"You're not going to hear anything, man," Dipper said, peering over his shoulder. "It's dead."

The boy looked up, faintly curling his upper lip. "Smells like bacon," he said, a sick grin plastered on his face. Dipper recoiled, stumbling into a rack of postcards that tumbled with a crash to the floor. The boy's eyes were nothing but a blank black film, lacking pupils and whites, giving him more of the appearance of a fly than a boy.

Dipper's stomach churned violently, a blanket of dread smothering his chest, penetrating his mind, senses plugged like a wad of cotton.

"Oh, this?" he said, jabbing a finger to his temple. "Eye condition. It's all bacteria, man. All bacteria. Lesson is, don't wear contacts." He laughed, his tone lowering in pitch, taking on the sound of grating metal. "On another hand, ever think to check out that smell? Losing customers slowly but surely, I'll bet."

"Okay, uh, w-well, we're looking into it," Dipper returned, tone reaching an unstable, shaky pitch.

"Name's Johnny," he said.

"Dipper," Dipper said, then paused, offering a thin smile. "Where are you from?"

"I live here."

Dipper frowned, narrowing his eyes. "I've met _pretty_ much everyone that lives in Gravity Falls."

"And as of now, you've met me," Johnny whispered, his face breaking into another grin, skin stretching taut over his sallow cheeks.

"Of course," Dipper said softly, fingers fidgeting wildly in his pockets.

"I need some supernatural shit for some lame ass book report due at the end of the summer," Johnny continued, right eye twitching uncontrollably.  
"Almost free, man."

Dipper cleared his throat, focusing his gaze on the window. "Yeah, man. We've got all that magical crap here." He swallowed, shifting his stare to Johnny's face. "Just- just tell me when you're ready to ring up."

"About that," said Johnny, sidling up to the other boy, fingering a cloudy plastic orb in his hand, "Technically, I don't have the cash with me right now." His black eyes glittered in the Shack's cold fluorescent overhead light, an eerie simper distorting his face into an almost maniac mask.

Dipper frowned. "Look, man, we don't do loans here. You either got the money or you don't."

Johnny's eyes flashed as he twisted his lips. "You don't understand."

"Come on. You can't expect me to let you steal this stuff. God, my uncle wouldn't let a penny out the door unless it was in his own wallet.

Johnny's eyes glistened, fixing Dipper with a blank stare, their eerie blackness seeming to pierce into his mind, drilling a cavity in the squishy flesh of his brain. He clamped his jaws together and ducked down, bile carving a road up his throat.

"Okay, okay," he said finally, raising his arms.

Dipper released an inaudible sigh, organs unclenching like an accordion.

"I get it. I'll come back later with some cash for my crap," he continued, scrutinizing Dipper's expression, the corners of his mouth twitching softly. "They scare you, don't they?"

Dipper's eyes widened, a barely perceptible shudder twitching throughout his body. "I-"

Johnny slid a pair of deeply tinted sunglasses over his eyes. "Good."

"What's going on?" Mabel asked, sliding up to her brother. "Who's this?"

"This is Johnny," Johnny smiled broadly, pointing a finger to his chest.

"He lives here," Dipper said quietly.

"Really now?" Mabel said. "We should get together sometime soon! I'm Mabel, by the way."

Johnny grinned widely and punched Dipper on the shoulder. "Yeah, bro," he said, and, leaning close to his ear added, "And maybe we can talk about that loan."

He winked. "Kidding. You like the Diner?"

"Eh," Dipper shrugged. "Food's okay. Those strength machine games they've got in there aren't fun at all, though." He scoffed. "Rigged games aren't cool, am I right?"

Johnny smirked. "Hah. I totally roasted that Manliness Tester. Got free pancakes to last me a month."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, me too." Dipper said quickly.

"We should meet up there, then! Tomorrow at ten cool?" Mabel said.

"Sure. See you around," Johnny said, raising his arm in a sharp salute, tossing the plastic orb several feet into the air and allowing it to land in the gaping mouth of his sweatshirt hood.

Mabel let out a breathy gasp, the sudden inhalation whistling in her braces. "What a _hunk_! Those sunglasses- so… mysterious. I was trying to keep my cool, couldn't you tell? I'm so great at playing hard to get. As the less superior sibling, you could learn a thing or two from me."

Dipper shook his notepad of scores for various games before her face, letting the thinning pages caked with lead smudges and tally marks dart about in the unforgiving fluorescents. "Ah, let's see… Dipper, thirteen, Mabel, zero. Dipper, twenty-five, Mabel-"

"Okay, okay. Stop now while you're ahead."

"Kids! What's the holdup?" Stan barked, slapping several plastic flies onto a glass eye near the window.

"Oh, nothing," Mabel batted her soft lashes, "Just telling Dipper not to do that incantation in his tighty whities in the middle of the gift shop like his Journal said. No matter how much he hopes Wendy might enjoy it."

Dipper's cheeks flushed a bright shade of scarlet, eyes darting about the room. "Yeah, yeah. Why don't you be a little louder next time, I don't think the people in China heard you!"

* * *

 _Dipper was running._

 _Crunch crackle crunch_

 _Short footsteps._

 _His breath expelled in short, wheezing gasps, rising in pitch and layered with heaving sobs._

 _An abandoned log cabin. He halted, bare feet splintering on the rotting wood, beetles scrabbling across his toes._

 _White noise._

 _Silence._

 _A lone branch, clacking against the remnants of a fractured windowpane._

 _Dipper's head shot upwards, blank eyes painted black._

 _Don't look._

 _He lies on the rafters._

 _Clack clack_

 _thump_

 _Blood spurted from Dipper's eyes, pooling about in the thick netting of his lashes._

 _"GET OUT! GET OUT!"_

 _A lone voice, reverberating throughout the cabin, guttural tone similar to that of grinding cogs, grating over and over again, "No loan, Dipper? That's a shame. Say goodnight. Say goodnight. Say goodnight. Say-"_

 _His mouth agape in a soundless scream, arms outstretched, scraping frantically at the air before him._

Dipper gasped a wheezing series of coughs into the chill night air, curling his skinny limbs into himself like a pill bug, tears gushing and splitting a network down his cheeks like spiderwebs.

"Dipper." Mabel's face materialized inches before his, chewing her lip and rubbing his shoulders. "Hey, hey, hey. Wake up. You were screeching and clawing at the air, Bro-Bro. It was just a dream. It's okay," she whispered, yanking the blanket up his trembling frame.

He released a violent shudder, recoiling at the sound of his own pitiful whimpering. His sister hoisted herself upon the groaning mattress, ignoring the protesting grunts of her pig on the opposite side of the room, using the mass of tangled blankets strewn across the bed to wrap his bony limbs in a stiff burrito.

"You'd never let me do this while you were awake," she said, smile revealing itself in the crinkles in the corners of her eyes. "This is what I do after I have a nightmare. See, Bro-Bro? You're safe. No monster hunting for you tomorrow, okay?"

She let his icy body curl up against hers for the remainder of the night, smoothing down his hair and babbling about soothing nothings.

As each of the boy's breaths grew more sound and his weary eyes sagged, his remaining conscious determined not to tell his sister that it was no monster that had triggered the dream- it was Johnny.


	2. Two

Two

 _Monday, 9:16 A.M_

"Do I have any bacon in my braces?" Mabel asked, barring her teeth.

Dipper eyed his sister. "No one wants to see what's in your mouth, Mabel," he said, absently crushing his fried egg with the cold metal prongs of his fork, allowing the liquidized yolk to pool about the plate.

"What'cha got against that egg, kid?" his uncle grunted from the depths of his newspaper, narrowing his bloodshot eyes at the boy slouched in his seat before him.

"Dipper didn't really sleep last night. He's probably just a little tired," Mabel said. "Doctor Waddles would know just what to do!" She glared down at her plate. "If he'd just stop hiding. He was _gone_ this morning. Do you think he's-" her pupils inflated, "- _mad_ at me?"

Stan scoffed. "If I were that pig, I'd never want to leave. That animal's gotten better treatment in one month than I've gotten my entire life."

Mabel released a breathy sigh, frowning as she watched her brother flip another page in his Journal, rubbing the gray smudges that resided beneath his lashes.

"Hey, Bro-Bro. Why don't you put that away for a sec, okay? We can talk about something instead." She flashed the boy a toothy smile. "We've got a new friend, right?" She tapped her uncle. "Grunkle Stan, Dipper and I are hanging out with a new peep today. This guy is _sooo_ adorable. He-"

Dipper's head whipped upwards so violently the tableware rattled.

"No!" He struck his fist to the table, the wood groaning in protest.

Silence.

"Dipper, what's the matter?" Mabel said softly, sinking her teeth into her lower lip and chewing gently.

"I can't be the only one. You didn't see his eyes?"

Mabel furrowed her brow. "Whose eyes, Dipper?"

"Johnny's," he said, quavery voice rising a few notches. "You didn't see? His eyes were completely black. No whites, no pupils, nothing."

Mabel had never seen her brother like this; face pallid and sickly, wilting eyes regarding her desperately, chin trembling in frustration.

She touched his arm. "Dipper, I'm not going to say you imagined this at all. Like, you know I totally trust you. But, it's not like you haven't misjudged someone before. You've messed with demons and monsters hundreds of times. What's so different about this guy?"

Dipper twisted his lips, focusing his gaze on the ceiling. "You didn't see his eyes. You didn't hear the way he talked to me."

"Okay, Dipper," Mabel said, releasing a sigh. "I believe you. I guess we'll just have to blow him off." She gathered up her plates, forming a tower of sorts with each dish. "Well, you can help me look for Waddles today. We've got a radio show to do. Our fans get _really_ impatient, if you know what I mean," she said, rolling her eyes.

Dipper did not know what she meant, but eventually consented.

* * *

Dipper eyed his watch, fingers twitching like a motor. Eleven-twenty. One hour and twenty minutes passed since they were set to meet at the Diner.

"He's not here, either!" Mabel's watery voice sounded from a clump of shrubs nearby.

He bit his lip. "Mabel, maybe we should just wait until he wants to come back."

No response.

The boy heaved a sigh and made himself comfortable on the moist leaf carpeting of the ground, fiddling with a dead leaf lying forlornly on a moss bed. The breeze blowing across his neck was humid and dank, carrying a thick, heavy odor that set about him like a blanket of rotted milk. He coughed, plugging his nose with shaking fingers. "Rank," he muttered softly, forcing his watering eyes open against the pungent air.

 _Drip drip_

Dipper stiffened.

He raised a trembling hand to wipe his forehead, ice forming a thick coat about his insides.

The boy choked, fist flying to his mouth.

Blood.

Dipper reeled backwards, bumping up against the knotted bark of a tree, pupils inflating twice their size.

Hanging from the boughs of a tree dangled the bloody dissected limbs of a pig, twirling and dipping in the air like wind chimes. Another breeze swept through the trees, and a large shadow passed above the boy, resulting in the loud smack of flesh against flesh. Dipper's mouth gaped in the formation of a scream, breath expelling in soft hisses as he stared into the beady maggot-infested eyes of the decapitated pig's head.

He squeezed his own eyes shut, balling his fists tightly, letting a string of lyrics extend from his lips in frenzied gasps. "Disco girl… coming through…

"Dipper? Where are you?" Mabel's voice resonated through the trees, miles away.

A shadow materialized on Dipper's right, and he stole a brief glance in its direction, bile rising in his throat at frightening speed.

"Huh. This is… surprising," the shadow spoke softly, harsh voice dripping sugar.

Dipper curled his lip, ignoring the tremors that spasmed throughout his body at every passing second. "You get out of here," he said, voice emerging in a hoarse whisper. "You did this to my sister's pig, you freak. We don't want anything to do with you!"

Johnny raised an eyebrow, a slow simper spreading across his face, turning his sharp features into a devilish nightmare. "You think I did this?" he said simply, crouching down to inspect the pig's head, ignoring the sticky blood seeping up his pant leg.

Dipper opened his mouth a bit unsurely, circling around the other boy like a wildcat hunkered down for the pounce. "Just stay away from us, you hear?"

Johnny hoisted himself up to eye level with Dipper, black eyes glittering predatorily at the boy, still smirking. "Listen-"

"Dipper!" Mabel said, jogging into the clearing. "You didn't answer when I called you. Don't _do_ that!" She knitted her brows together. "Hey, Johnny. What are you doing here?"

Johnny eyed her, his grinning face appearing clownish in the late morning light. "It appears there's been… an accident of sorts."

Mabel followed his gesture, eyes wide. An interminable silence followed as her features melted into a harrowing expression of complete shock. She opened her mouth only to snap it shut again, pressing her lips together so tightly they began to fade to white.

"Dipper," she said shakily, tears spurting from her eyes, raising a trembling finger. "That's not my pig. That's not Waddles." She lifted her gaze to Johnny, curling her lip as she laid sight on his eyes. "My brother was right about you," she said, leaning unsteadily into Dipper. "You stay away."

Johnny raised his arms. "I'm telling you, this wasn't me."

Dipper shakily bit his lip, stomach heaving and dread forming a choke hold on his throat, holding his sister as she wept into his shoulder. "Don't speak to us," he said, voice laden with hiccuping gasps. He took a few wobbly steps away from the other boy, clutching Mabel to his chest, teeth chattering.

Johnny advanced, glinting eyes regarding him curiously. "I didn't do it," he repeated. "But I know who did."

Dipper looked up, expression hardening, ignoring the spastic beating of his heart.

"It was my father," Johnny said, frowning, kicking a rut in the soil with the rubbery sole of his shoe. "He's a scientist. Well, technically a doctor. He likes to test methods on his subjects to better his practice. He didn't know this was your pig, Mabel."

"Let me talk to him, then, if it really wasn't you," Dipper said, narrowing his eyes at the other boy. "Take me to your dad."

Johnny kicked the heavy oak door open, setting forth a cloud of thick dust in its wake.

Dipper held a hand up to shield his eyes from the glaring afternoon sun, flinching at the heavy footfalls that greeted the children from the doorframe.

"Who's this?" a hard voice asked.

"Friends. Dipper and Mabel. They want to talk to you about their pig," Johnny said cordially, sadistic grin returning to its familiar place.

"That was your pig?" Johnny's father said, releasing a soft chuckle that resembled shrieking metal. "I'm quite sorry." His expression altered slightly, forming a sick smile that resembled his son's, and he stooped on one knee, staring at Dipper with unnerving piercing green eyes. His chiseled features, although strikingly handsome, appeared emaciated and sharp, bones jutting prominently from his cheekbones. "I can bring it back for you," he said, eyes glittering. "I can create you a new pig, just like the old one." He grinned wider. "I kept his brains."

Mabel gasped, taking an abrupt step backwards.

"Don't be alarmed," Johnny's father said, standing back up and straightening his wrinkled labcoat. "Come inside, please," he added, sweeping an outstretched hand into the foyer.

Dipper frowned, casting a glance at his sister before entering the threshold.

Pitch black.

"Hey, man, what's the big idea?" He swiveled to face Johnny's father only to flinch at the noise of the front door slamming in his face.

As an oxygen mask thrusted harshly against his mouth, his dying conscious focused on the only prominent noise heard- his sister's screams.

 **A/N Thanks to all who reviewed on the previous chapter. Sorry that this one was a bit short. Next one should be a bit gory, but I think you all can handle it. Expect it in a couple of weeks from now.**


	3. Three

Three

 _Monday, 5:30 P.M_

"Tell me, boy, what was your name again?"

Dipper moaned, blinking hot tears out of his eyes from the jarringly bright light swiveled on his face. The only dimensional object penetrating his line of view was a sharp male figure leaning nearly a foot away. A surgical chair of sorts suspended his body stiffly above the ground.

A cold slap struck the sensitive skin of his cheek, the crack resonating in his ears like a missile detonation.

"My patience is wearing thin. The night is not young. I believe I asked for your name?"

Dipper ejected a sharp hiss, the left side of his face tingling and burning scarlet.

"D-Dipper," he pushed out, voice a mere whisper of a croak.

"Ah. You'd think I would have remembered that," the man said, chuckle laced with a savage bite. He drew closer to the boy, slowly prodding the pulse of his neck with a scalpel. "You all fascinate me," he said softly. "The way you move, talk, interact with others. You _feel_." He bit his lip. "I feel nothing."

Dipper shrank into his seat. "You're him. You're Johnny's father."

The man continued digging. "'Sir' will do just fine."

The boy closed his eyes. "You've got to let me go. The police'll be after you soon. You've got to let me go." He squirmed, wrists and ankles snagging on rusty metal cuffs.

"I have no intention to keep you here, Dipper. None at all," Sir said, adjusting his spine with a popping crack.

His pupils swelled. "Just let me touch you. I need to-" He swallowed heavily, lips contorting as his electric gaze found the ceiling. "Such a pretty boy."

Dipper stiffened as Sir's icy fingers ran down the skin of his cheek, rigid callouses triggering a tickling sensation that set ice to his stomach.

"I must test you," Sir continued, pivoting on his heel to a metal table, rummaging through the various jars and surgical tools strewn across its exterior. "I'm very close, Dipper. I often work with animals, but it's very clear that a human is the one I need." He paused, a syringe in hand. "You could be the one."

Dipper shook his head frantically, limbs a convulsing mess. "No, please. I'm nothing, I'm nobody!"

A wicked grin spread across Sir's features, feral eyes glittering in the harsh gray light. "Oh, Dipper. I think we both know you're very wrong about that."

He advanced towards the boy slowly, like a savage beast stalking its prey.

Dipper writhed frantically, regarding the man with wild eyes. "I'll scream. Don't test me- I'll scream!" His voice broke, climbing another octave, and he wheezed a choking cough.

"Hold steady," Sir said, almost cheerfully, abruptly plunging the syringe into his forearm, the boy's outmost layer of skin releasing a sickening pop.

Sir's eyes danced, examining him hungrily. "Any second now." The man gulped a shaky lungful of thick air, pressing his index finger lightly to his temple.

Dipper gagged, throwing his head over the edge of the chair and dry heaving onto the glossy linoleum.

Sir strode back to the table, thrusting his hand through the lid of one of the jars, digging his fingers through its glutinous fluid.

"Calm down now, boy, calm down. This is a delicate task, you see." Sir's voice was absent, his breathing labored.

Dipper's hazy sight presented him with nothing more than a view of Sir's back against the table. He threw his head against the hard metal of the chair as the room spun in a great sweeping motion about him, sinking his teeth into the soft skin of his cheek, the accumulating blood shooting across his tongue.

"Please," he hissed. "What's—happening to— me?"

"Nothing," Sir said, smoothing down a lock of the boy's hair. "Nothing," he continued, "and everything." He drew a shaky breath, producing an object beyond Dipper's bleary line of vision.

"I'm going to need you to hold still now, boy. Hold still." He then collapsed to his knees at the boy's side like a worshipper, gripping the article with white knuckled fingers.

For a time, the world was silent, exempting Dipper's watery gasping and the constant metronome beat of the stopwatch on Sir's pale wrist.

Sir struck.

He worked quickly, carving a gaping cavity in the sensitive skin of the boy's calf.

Blinding light flared about Dipper's eyesight, sparks whizzing through the air as a blood-curdling howl released his lips. Sir's grin was illuminated in the din, eyes wild as bone-shattering tremors racked his body, his surgical probe shuddering.

"No anesthetic here, Dipper. You're all animals to me." Sir's voice resonated dully in his ears; a muted backdrop in a musical of agony.

The boy writhed like an upturned tortoise, bony limbs convulsing and scalding tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. Heat surged in rivulets up his leg; every bone in his body melting to blistering cartilage.

Sir's fist flew to his mouth, breathing slowing to a soft pant, sweat shining on his forehead. "It's working. My God, it's _working_!"

Dipper squealed, throat smoldering, cheeks flushed scarlet and eyes bulging, burning sobs heaving against his chest. He threw a hazy glance down at his leg; his right calf, gouged to the bone, was oily and black, with thick, inky blood oozing off the edge of the chair. Sir stood above him, squirting a viscous yellow fluid into the crater, each spew lodging deep into broken chunks of skin with a hissing sizzle.

Dipper's hands flew to his face, blood caked fingernails carving a groove in the soft flesh of his cheeks, sucking in a breath and releasing it afresh in a shrill wail.

"Jesus," Sir hiccuped, stroking the boys cheek with the back of his hand. "It will all be over soon, Dipper," he said with a frown, casting a glance to his wristwatch. "Unfortunately."

"Oh, bother," he muttered when Dipper's shrieks subsided, head lolling to the side and eyelids collapsing.

Sir clucked his tongue, snipping a length of thread from its spool and threading the gauge up, soaking up the boy's hot blood with dirty rags.

"Sleep's anesthetic. How relieving."

* * *

Dipper wheezed a ragged breath, limbs spasming wildly. His eyes, heavy and sticky, tore open with a rip; blinding light pierced his line of vision and he flinched, shuddering loudly into the side of his neck. A hazy film sheeted his irises; nothing penetrated his view but various smudges and shapes.

A squishy couch cushion of sorts enveloped his body in a doughy embrace, and his calf, stiffly swathed now in clean gauze, dangled in the air in a rubber sling.

"Would you like me to turn the lamp down a notch, Dipper?" a voice spoke through foggy clouds of humid murk. The muffled question resonated in the boy's ears like a bulky cannon shot, and he shrank back, thrusting his head frantically against a pillow to catch a glimpse of the man speaking— no, no, no.

His throat constricted, tauter than a rubber band, and he swallowed violently, his vocal cords inflating.

"Please, please let me go," he said thickly, sounding more like a monster than a boy.

A hysterical laugh.

"Let you go? Let you go?"

Frustrated tears caught in Dipper's eyelashes, threading down his cheeks. "I—"

"Shh." A cold finger pressed down against his lips.

Dipper froze.

"'Letting you go' would imply that I kidnapped you, Dipper, and I didn't do that… you know I didn't do that."

Sir rubbed the flat of his thumb against the boy's lips, breath hitching.

"If you'd like no harm to come to your sister— relieve me, her name again?"

Dipper curled his lip. "D'you think I'm an idiot?"

Sir gave a slight shake of the head, pupils swollen and regarding him curiously. "No matter, Dipper, no matter. I suggest you do as I say, all the same." He knelt by the boy's side, stroking his arm with fingers caked in dried blood.

Dipper hissed, chest constricting.

"One slip," Sir continued, the word punctuated sharply, "one slip of the tongue, Dipper, and your family… your sister… well, I have my connections."

The boy's vision swam, all traces of previous nerve dissipating like a wisp of fine smoke.

"P-please," he choked, insides tightening, throat caught in a choke hold as he ground his teeth. "I'll do anything. Don't hurt my family. Don't hurt Mabel."

"Ah, Mabel. Mabel. I remember now!" A laugh bubbled on his lips, chuckle carving an inferno in the back of his throat.

He stopped abruptly, letting a smile dance across his cracked lips.

"I like hurting people, Dipper." His smile faltered, setting his jaw. "You're a special boy— did you know that?" he continued softly. "I disfigured my son. He— fascinated me… all you children do."

Dipper squirmed, the sling crumpling. His leg buckled onto the couch, and his head whipped upwards, mouth snapping open. "It doesn't hurt," he whispered.

"You're a special boy. Remarkable boy," Sir repeated.

The sudden hollow echo of frantic knuckles thudding on the door caused Dipper's heart to spring into his throat and he leapt to his feet, eyes wild. His eyesight cleared to see Sir's lanky figure crouching motionlessly in the shadows, sallow cheeks stretched into a grin.

"Hold my hand, Dipper?" he whispered.

The beating continued, louder this time, more frenzied.

"Don't make me ask again."

Dipper swallowed, hand trembling and dripping sweat.

Sir snatched it. "We're going to answer the door now, Dipper. Remember our little agreement?"

Dipper peered up at the man, head immediately snapping down, eyes wilting.

Sir drew the door open, black night shadowing the figure on the stoop, flickering police lights illuminating the dark sky.

"My nephew- give me back my nephew, you sick bastard," a voice grunted. "I've already called the cops; there's nothing you can do."

"Grunkle Stan," Dipper choked, breaking away from Sir's grasp, flinging his body into the arms of his great-uncle, sobbing loudly into the side of his neck.

"Up-bup-" Sir said softly. "Dipper, why are you crying?"

Dipper's head snapped up, roughly smearing tears onto the back of his palm.

"I-I fainted, Grunkle Stan. It…scared me."

Stanley regarded the boy incredulously, brow carving a deep trench in his forehead. "What?"

A car door slammed, little footsteps clambering up the porch. "Dipper! Dipper, oh my God! Dipper!" Mabel threw her arms around her brother, running a hand up and down the back of his shirt, tears dribbling onto the fabric. The boy, shaking with tremors, leaned in to her warm embrace, sighing heavily into her soft sweater, chin trembling.

"Kid!" Stan snapped. "I told you to wait in the car."

The girl ignored him, continuing to weep softly.

Blubs and Durland sprinted up the steps, flashlight and nightstick in hand.

"Hands up in the name of the law!" Durland crowed, flicking the beam of light in Sir's eyes.

The man's eyes bulged, lips pursed in a snicker.

"What are you laughin' about, son? The man said hands up!" Blubs hissed, the nightstick twitching in his fingers.

Sir giggled hysterically, lifting his arms in pure glee. "There's nothing to see here, men. Your boy here fainted, you see. I took him in until he woke up. All a grand misunderstanding."

Blubs raised a thick eyebrow, mouth taut. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Tell the nice officer everything, Dipper," Sir said placidly, draping an arm against the doorframe. He grinned. "It'll be nothing but the truth."

Dipper swallowed, small frame shuddering. "H-he's right. He hasn't done anything. I fainted, I don't know, because of the air or something… I-I'm fine. I swear."

"Dipper," Mabel whispered, eyes widening. "That didn't happen… We were both there!" Her voice climbed several octaves, cheeks reddening. "Tell them the truth!"

"I did," the boy murmured, face flushing.

"Young lady, tell us what you remember, please. And don't leave out anything," Blubs said sharply.

"Well—" Mabel began, "I-I already said!"

"Tell us again. So Mr. Giggles can hear you," Durland piped up, still brandishing the flashlight in Sir's direction.

"That guy's son— Johnny— we- we made him bring us here to talk to his dad about—" she drew a watery breath, "about butchering Waddles. When we got here, that guy let us in, but Dipper went first. He shut the door! He shut the door, and I didn't know what to do so I started screaming, and Johnny— he told me to shut up, that nothing was happening, that I was overreacting…oh, God."

"He didn't do anything," Dipper repeated.

"What's with the brace then?" Mabel hissed, gesturing to his calf, planting her hands on her hips.

"The boy fell," Sir spoke up. "Nasty tumble."

"Is all this true?" Blubs' eyes bore into the boy, and he ducked his head.

"Yeah. Can I please just go home?" Tears shone in Dipper's eyes, regarding Stan with desperation.

"Well, it looks like you're off the hook," Blubs frowned, scratching his chin. "Any more complaints, though, and it's down to the station with you."

"Down to the station," Durland repeated, nodding his head.

Sir saluted. "Agreed, gentlemen. You don't have a warrant with you, but I'd be more than happy to show you around the place… maybe have a talk over a pint or two…"

Blubs narrowed his eyes. "We're gonna pass."

"No!" Mabel exclaimed. "That guy's lying- Dipper! What is wrong with you?"

"Please, Mabel," Dipper cringed. "Just believe me." His voice broke, and the girl's expression softened.

"Let's just go home," she said finally, taking his hand, Dipper's throat tightening as he swallowed roughly.

He collapsed in the backseat of Stan's convertible, sleep finding him immediately, and Mabel tucked a blanket around his frame, resting her head on his still shoulder as the engine started, followed by the car speeding into the night.

She sat up, peering through the back window at the scene behind her— Sir, still lolling on the stoop, bathed in cold, yellow light, howling with laughter, blank eyes anchored to hers.

 **A/N Sorry that it's been a while since the last installment. Thanks for all the reviews thus far. S** **orry if the writing's a little embellished; this was written quite a while ago when I was just getting over a bit of writer's block. To be honest, I'm running out of ideas for this story and my attention is focused on other pieces- so if you have any ideas to move the story forwards, I'd be glad to hear them. Thanks.**


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